MAYHEM
by Jojo-smile
Summary: The Clique is back together and stronger than ever! Twelve years after Massie's move to London, she's returning back from Paris with a surprise in tow. Alicia's sick of being beta and Dylan is faced with a dilemma. Kristen wants a job that an LBR we all know has already snagged, and is Cam cheating on Claire? Things escalate to MAYHEM at their reunion … Rated T for some language.
1. Intro

**Massie:** arrives back from Paris with designer clothes, a degree and a husband in tow. But the one thing nobody expects? Massie has changed. For the better. She's _nice _now. Except will it last when a dissatisfied beta we all know makes a pass at what matters most to Massie, or will she revert to old ways?

**Alicia:** is back together with hawt Josh Hotz and stronger than ever. But Alicia never was one to stay in one place for too long, and when Massie arrives back with forbidden fruit Alicia knows she shouldn't eat, she senses that this is her big chance to become alpha—for good. Can Hotz hold her back or will she devour everything in sight—including her relationship with Massie?

**Dylan:** has made her dream come true and is TMZ gossip news anchor, so gossip is the daily grind. Except when gossip drifts into her inbox _about _The Daily Grind. Can Dylan save her family _and _keep her career, or will she have to pick?

**Kristen:** has found a guy and her place on the social ladder. At the top. At least, that's the way it is for her kindergarten students. Because Kristen's become what everyone thought she'd never be: a kindergarten teacher. Except Kristen isn't satisfied, and goes job-hunting. She even finds the perfect job—only that Layne Abeley, of all people, has already snagged it. Guess it's back to the crib for Kristen …

**Claire:** Happily situated in Westchester with Cam Fisher, the man of her dreams. Her life is perfect. Until she finds out that Cam's been keeping a secret. A very, very dirty one. But Claire's about to be in for a surprise, because nothing is as it seems …

**A/N: Hi guys! This story is kind of based on a FanFiction I started a few months ago but never finished (I ended up deleting it). Hope you guys like it :) And feel free to review! I'm hoping to update regularly, and I'm probably going to be posting this on Wattpad, too (although under the fanfiction section, of course). If you have any questions, send me a PM! :) By the way, although the characters are only Alicia and Dylan, it's actually with the whole Clique. Just to make that clear :) - jojo-smile**


	2. I

**A/N: So, here's the first chapter to MAYHEM! As I said in the intro, I'm planning to update weekly since I have other stuff going on (I do have hobbies, you know) but if not please don't kill me! (Just kidding.) Anyway, about the story. I know The Clique is kinda shallow and stuff, and this is really just a fanfic for fun and because I had the idea about it. Honestly, the characters kinda fascinate me … so I decided to write this! All characters (except Louis and some which will appear in future chapters) are Lisi Harrison's of course, but the plot is mine. I hope you enjoy and if you have any questions or comments feel free to write a review! :) - jojo-smile **

* * *

John F. Kennedy Airport

Arrivals Hall

Tuesday, September 12th

2:40 PM

"Flight 729 from Paris has arrived."

Kendra Block nervously wrung her hands together as she rose to her tiptoes, trying to see above the crowds that surrounded the exit from the baggage claim area. Her shoulder-length hair, which she had re-dyed at Bliss to its original chestnut color, was in a ponytail and swaying energetically as she jumped up and down in quick succession, trying to catch a view of the glazed glass door.

"Kendra," William Block hissed. "Compose yourself. They've only just arrived, and they still have to get their luggage."

Kendra twisted around to where William was, a few paces behind her, leaning against a railing, checking his e-mails for the hundredth time on his BlackBerry. "Aren't you excited to see Massie again? The last time we saw her was …"

"Four months, ten days and three hours ago, Kendra, I know," William sighed. He rubbed his eyes with an expression of utter exhaustion. "I have a meeting to go to, you know, and time is slipping away …"

"Oh, stop being so poetic," Kendra muttered waspishly. "And anyway, the meeting's at five—you have over two hours left!" She craned her neck further, still attempting to catch a glimpse of the door. In a few strides, she was at the railing and picked up the sign she had Inez make—a whiteboard with the words "Welcome Back, Massie!" written in thick purple Sharpie. A small golden crown was drawn next to the exclamation mark. In Kendra's opinion, the sign had turned out very well.

"Kendra, don't you think your sign is a bit … over-the-top?" William asked finally from behind his wife.

Kendra whipped around at him again, dangling the sign from her left hand. "I just want to make Massie feel at home. I want her to stay, William, and I think if she feels at home …"

"She'll just park her bones in one of your armchairs and make herself comfortable?" William snorted derisively. "She's young, just got a degree, and feels invincible. She won't stay in one place for too long. Not until she's married. At the very least. And even then, she might feel a strong temptation to go somewhere else, explore new places, do the things she's always dreamed about …"

"_We_ settled down in Westchester before we even got married," Kendra pointed out with a pout.

"Yes, honey," William agreed, threading an arm around the waist of his wife. "But we're an exception. And it wasn't like we lived in the house we live in now. All I'm saying is that Massie staying put in one place for more than half a year—a year at the most—is just a pipe dream. That's the truth."

Kendra bit her lip, unconsciously smearing her Lancôme lipstick on her left front tooth. "You sure?"

"Positive, honey. I'm sorry. I know you really want to be close to your—our—girl again. It's just … she needs to find her spot in the world. And I don't think it's Westchester, either."

Kendra closed her eyes for a few moments to gather herself. "Either way, I want her to feel welcome for as long as she stays, no matter how short—or long—that time period may be." With that, she gripped the whiteboard with both knuckles and held it up in the air, standing on tiptoes again to see the door.

_Whoosh. _Was that her? Kendra held her breath in apprehension, and let it out in a flat _swoosh _when she saw the middle-aged blonde businesswoman wheeling her small Rimowa with her briefcase along behind her.

_Whoosh. _That was surely Massie! Again, air escaped Kendra's nose like one would expect with a deflated tire when she saw the gangly, pimply teenage boy come out, scratching a zit and dragging a beat-up backpack along the floor.

"You know, maybe you're right," Kendra told William, twisting around to look at him and dropping her board until she was only holding it in her right hand. _Whoosh. _

"Mom?" Kendra heard a too-familiar voice call. "Dad?"

Kendra gasped, spun around and held up her sign for the entire world to see. "Massie!" she exclaimed, charging towards the source of the voice. She stopped short in front of the young woman who had just come out of the door. "Massie?" she asked tentatively, all excitement having disappeared from her voice. "Is that … you?"

The woman in front of her still had chestnut-colored hair, but it wasn't long and luscious anymore—it was in a long bob and with peanut-butter highlights. Her eyes were still amber, but surrounded by thick black eyeliner that ended in the outside corners of her eyes with a small tick, like a cat-eye. But most surprisingly was not her hair or her different makeup. It was the accessory she carried on her arm—a tall young man with curly black hair, startling blue eyes and long, curly eyelashes. He was carrying a monogram Louis Vuitton duffel ("at least he has style," Kendra told her sub-conscious mind) and a pair of Hugo Boss shades were tucked in the neckline of his loose grey shirt.

"Massie Block? Is that you really you?" Kendra asked, somewhat in awe.

Her daughter shook her head. "Massie—yes. Block—not quite." She turned to her friend. "Mom, Dad … meet Louis Deveraux—my husband!"

Kendra dropped her sign in sheer surprise. "You're … you're _married_?" she asked incredulously, enunciating the last word in shock.

Massie beamed, nodding. "Louis," she said, pronouncing his name Lou-ee, like Louis Vuitton and gesturing towards her parents, "these are Kendra and William Block."

Louis smiled and extended his hand. He had a dimple in his right cheek, Kendra noticed. "Very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Block." He only had a slight French accent.

William was the first to get over the shock. "Nice to meet you, Louis." He shook Louis' hand. "But Mass … why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you invite us?" He looked from Louis to Massie and back again.

Massie smiled. "Don't get angry, Daddy, but it was all so whirlwind! We met at the Christmas party last year, and then Louis wasn't there for my graduation and I didn't tell you about him, because … well, I didn't know whether you'd approve!" She looked at him beseechingly. "What with you wanting me to concentrate on my academics and everything, I thought you would think it inappropriate for me to have a boyfriend…" She trailed off, looking at her parents with big eyes. William nodded in encouragement. Kendra, however, seemed to have lost all conscious control of her limbs—she had sagged against the railing William had leaned against only a few minutes against. The thought of a party she had _not _been invited to—whether it be a wedding or a cocktail dinner—rendered Kendra Block speechless.

"Anyway, the day after you guys left, Louis proposed, and I said yes, and we married only two weeks later because we wanted to be together so bad!" She gave Louis a squeeze around his midriff and continued, literally glowing: "Then we went on our honeymoon, and we didn't want to tell you because we wanted it to be a surprise. So … surprise!" she squealed.

William grinned half-heartedly. "Well … congratulations, I guess," he said finally. "But I always thought you wanted your wedding to be a huge event with five hundred guests and pavilions in the garden and everything … what happened to that dream?"

Massie looked up at Louis for encouragement, who nodded, smiling. "We-ell, Louis and I thought we could have another celebration of our wedding," she burst out finally. "At your house, with pavilions in the garden and hors d'œuvres and cocktails and a big dinner, you know? I mean, it would be perfect! I'm here anyway for the reunion, and so we can just organize the party, too." She looked at her parents, excitement written across her features.

"I think … Mom and I need to talk about it," he said finally. "We'll be sure to consider it, though." Decades of being a businessman had taught William Block well when it came to acting in a diplomatic fashion. "Speaking of your mother, I think we had best get going." He strode over to where Kendra was leaning heavily on the railing, taking deep breaths. "Kendra, sweetie, we need to get home," he announced. "Let's go."

"So, you got all my other luggage, right?" Massie asked William as the party of four made their way across the Arrivals Hall.

William nodded. "Came just yesterday. I put it in the guesthouse—that's where Mom and I figured you could stay until you find your own place. How long are you planning to stay in Westchester?"

Massie shrugged and poked Louis in the ribs. "What do you think, Louis? How long will we be staying in Westchester?"

Louis pursed his lips. "Oh, I don't know. We just thought it would be a perfect place to start our new life together." He smiled at Massie. "After all, Massie grew up here, and I can't wait to meet all her friends, she's told me so much about them! And when she mentioned the reunion—well, I couldn't resist." He smiled and his dimple reappeared.

Massie giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "And I love you for it!"

Louis grinned and the two rubbed noses.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, William turned away. These next weeks would be difficult. _Very _difficult.

* * *

Upper West Side, NYC

Dylan's Penthouse

Tuesday, September 12th

4:45 PM

"Hi, you've reached Dylan Marvil. I'm not here at the moment, but feel free to leave me a message after the beep, or not. Whatever strikes your fancy." _Beep. _

"Hey, Dyl! This is Alicia speaking. As if you hadn't already noticed by my Spanish accent! Just kidding. Anyway, as you know, our annual reunion is coming up. Yay, so excited! And we're kind of still looking for a venue. I mean, technically we could do it in the Blocks' barn for old times' sake … but that is _so _seventh grade. That's a direct quote from Kris, by the way. So anyway, since you have connections and everything, we were thinking maybe you could organize something? I know you're in the city right now, but it would be awesome if it could be in Westchester. And that is _not _so seventh grade. So, I need to go, but call me back once you get this message. You know how to reach me. Kisses!"

Dylan groaned and rolled over onto her other side. But there was no use—she was awake now anyway. Blinking groggily, she wiped the sleep from her eyes and checked her leather Cartier wristwatch.

"_Shit_," she muttered. It was quarter to five, and her meeting with Devon Mallory, her TMZ gossip news co-anchor, started in fifteen minutes. It was ten blocks away, and there was no way Dylan would be able to walk that in time in her heels.

She was lying on the leather couch in her living room. Clearly, she had been completely wiped out after the business lunch with her boss, a certain Mr. Daniel Denley. How somebody with such a … mediocre name could run one of the most influential news shows was a mystery to her, but there it was. That was life.

Swinging her legs around and over the edge of the sofa, she set them onto the tiled floor. Her penthouse was furnished Mediterranean-style, with beige tiles and ocean-themed mosaics on the ceilings. Alicia had once said that she felt like she was in a grotto when she came here. Which wasn't quite what Dylan had hoped for—she didn't like the concept of a grotto, which seemed something like an underwater cave to her. But that was beside the point.

Her blue suede Ferragamo heels, which matched her chiffon Dolce & Gabbana blouse, had been discarded underneath the coffee table. Now, Dylan retrieved them, brushing a strand of flaming red hair behind her ear, and slipped her aching feet into them.

Standing up carefully so as not to fall down again—she was seriously lacking sleep—Dylan teetered over to where she had dropped her clutch at the far end of the couch, and retrieved her compact, checking her hair. Nothing a few brush strokes couldn't tame.

She checked her watch again. Only twelve minutes left.

Now upping the ante somewhat, Dylan made her way across the living room to the bathroom, where she grabbed her boar-bristle brush and dragged it a few times through her frizzy curls. There—that would do. Her shirt was barely crinkled, and she smoothed away the worst parts. Not even her mascara was smudged.

Leaning in towards the bathroom mirror, she checked her eyeliner, filled out the worst parts and stood back again, mustering her reflection. That would have to do.

Ten minutes left.

She left the bathroom and went back into her living room, where her black trench coat had been carelessly thrown over the back of a leather armchair. Holding her clutch between her knees, Dylan slipped into her coat and tucked her clutch under arm. She checked her reflection one last time in the floor-length foyer mirror, applied a layer of her favorite clear lip gloss and pushed the button for the elevator.

A few moments later, the elevator arrived. With a small _bing_, the doors opened and Dylan stepped inside, fervently pushing the button for the ground floor. Just as the elevator doors closed, she remembered Alicia's call.

Ever since the girls had all graduated from high school eight years ago, they had been organizing annual Pretty Committee Reunions so that they didn't get out of touch. Claire, most of all, emphasized the importance of it. "We've been best friends since seventh grade—even longer for you guys," she would always say, and Dylan, Kristen, Alicia and Massie would roll their eyes in exasperation and change the topic, until the third Friday in September rolled around every year and they celebrated their reunion. Even though she would mock Claire for her sentimentality, Dylan secretly loved the reunions. When Massie had still been living in Paris and studying, and the rest had been spread across the country, it had always been lots of fun to meet up again for the weekend and spend quality time together with the others. Even if they sometimes had fights, and Alicia was eternally jealous of Massie, they were like sisters, and nothing could tear them apart.

The elevator's resounding _bing _as it reached the ground floor tore Dylan from her reverie. Sweeping her curls out of her face, she stepped out of the elevator and swept out of the entrance foyer, past Alexei, the doorman—he tipped his hat politely—and out into the late afternoon sun.

Squinting in the sun, Dylan raised her right arm eagerly to hail a cab. Immediately, two pulled up in front of her. Alexei hurried over to open the door, and Dylan accepted his help thankfully. True gentlemen were rare in New York City—and the majority was uniform-wearing doormen. Alexei slammed the door behind Dylan and hurried back to his spot next to the door.

"Café Fleur, please," Dylan told the cab driver, careful not to touch anything but her clutch and her seatbelt. She unclasped her clutch and pulled out her iPhone, dialing Alicia's number.

"Dyl." Alicia picked up after the first ring. "So nice to hear from you. Did you get my message?"

"Yeah. About your request … I'll try to look into it, but I'm all for the Block barn. After all, the reunion is supposed to be like one of our Friday night sleepovers, isn't it? So it would be the perfect place." She absent-mindedly checked her nails. Her matte black polish had chipped on her left pinky. Without thinking, Dylan started peeling off the rest.

Alicia paused, thinking for a minute. "I'll run it by Kris and Claire. By the way, did you hear? Massie's back in town. She's staying with her parents for now, but she's already arranged a date with me." She squealed with excitement.

"Leesh. Concentrate. I need to go in a sec, I have a meeting with my colleague."

"Okay, so I'll ask Kris and Claire what they think about doing the reunion in Westchester and then I'll send you a text by this evening, so that you can pull some strings in the city if necessary."

"Awesome. Gotta go, bye."

"See you! Oh, and by the way—when will you be coming to Westchester?"

"Not until the twenty-second," Dylan replied, signaling the driver that they had arrived at the café. "Look, I really need to go. Bye!"

"Kisses!"

"Yeah, see you." Dylan handed the driver a five-dollar bill and slipped her phone back into her clutch. The driver had gotten out and was opening the door for her. Nodding thanks to him, she stepped out onto the curb and made her way across the sidewalk to Café Fleur.


	3. II

**A/N: Hi guys! Here's the second chapter for MAYHEM :) (So much for updating once a week, haha.) Originally I was planning to make this and the next chapter one combined chapter, however the next chapter takes place the next day and I didn't want to put the two in one chapter. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and don't forget to rate and review! -jojo-smile **

* * *

Claire and Cam's Apartment

The Kitchen

Tuesday, September 12th

7:45 PM

"So, Claire-Bear, how was your day?" Cameron Fisher looked at Claire Lyons with his eyes, one blue, one green, and Claire nearly melted on the inside. Composing herself, she tucked a strand of recently bleached blonde hair behind her ear and shrugged.

"It was average. I cleaned up the apartment, did that kind of stuff." She sighed. "I think it's time I got a job, don't you? I mean, I know we've moved in together and everything, and that you can support the both of us. But _still. _Sitting around all day is boring."

Cam took Claire's delicate, manicured hand and smiled at her. "Well, what were you thinking of?" The flickering candlelight threw dancing shadows across his face. Claire felt remotely spooked.

"Oh … I don't know. Maybe something with fashion? Or with kids." She bit her lip. "I just want to _do _something, you know? I can't stand it in here."

Cam looked at her quizzically. "I thought you liked our apartment!" He gazed around at the white-tiled kitchen with its gleaming chrome appliances. "And I thought you liked painting." He looked at one of Claire's paintings—depicting two girls whispering on a park bench together—and then back at his girlfriend.

"But's it always the same!" Claire exclaimed. "Wake up, eat, paint, eat, hang out, maybe do something with Kristen or Alicia, eat, sleep. I can't live like this anymore."

Cam frowned. He had never heard Claire talk like this before … A thought crossed his mind, but he pushed it to the back of his head. _No. _

"Well, I guess we can go job-hunting together tomorrow," Cam suggested.

"Don't you have to work?"

Cam shrugged. "I would gladly take off a day for you, Claire-Bear."

Claire blushed and looked at her fingernails. "Well, anyways," she replied finally, "I think it's best I don't start looking for a job until _after _the reunion. It's kind of strenuous, what with Massie coming back from Paris and everything … And we don't even know where we're going to do it yet! Well, kind of. Although Kristen protests. Which is pretty annoying …" She swept a strand of hair behind her ear again and stopped blabbering. "I'm sorry. Why don't you tell me about your day? If I tell you about the reunion, I'm going to end up breaking something."

Cam laughed his deep, throaty laugh and Claire smiled. "Well," he began, fiddling with his cutlery. Cam was an assistant doctor at Westchester Health Clinic, and was training to become a surgeon. "I had a meeting with Mr. Banks today, for a pay raise."

Claire squealed with excitement. "Didyougetitdidyougetitdidyougetit?!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands joyfully.

Cam grinned. "Well, as of next month it will come into action."

"I'm so proud of you, Cammy!" Claire said, gripping his hand. She took a deep breath, composing herself, and went on: "What else happened?"

Cam shrugged. "I took part in a tonsil removal surgery, but apart from that, I helped take care of patients and clean up the operation theater."

"Well, I'm sure you day was _much_ more exciting than me," Claire explained with a smile, trying to mask her will to gag at the thought of what a tonsil removal surgery must look like.

Cam chuckled and stood up, scraping his chair back. "Hey, how about we clear the table and then have a movie marathon this evening?"

"Oh, Cammy, this is why I love you," Claire murmured, slipping her arm around his waist and giving him a kiss on his cheek. "But we have to postpone the movie for a bit. I still have some dessert!"

She stacked their plates and carried their wine glasses to the dish washer. "Here, why don't you clear the table and I'll set up for dessert."

"What did you make?" Cam asked, balancing the pot of pea soup in one hand and the one still half-full of mashed potatoes back to the countertop.

"It's a surprise," Clair replied, her voice muffled since she was trying to maneuver the dessert bowl out of an overflowing fridge. Holding the bowl in both hands, she slammed the fridge door closed with the heel of her foot and twisted around to Cam with a flourish. "Ta-da!" she exclaimed, holding the bowl of raspberries with mascarpone towards Cam. "Your favorite."

Cam grinned. "Aw, Claire, that's why I love _you_." He set the bowl onto the countertop and enveloped his girlfriend in a long kiss, who snaked her arms around his neck as Cam put his hands onto her waist. They backed against the counter and Cam turned around, setting Claire onto the counter and carefully pushing his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues wrestled as a thousand sparks originated on Claire's lips and travelled through her veins, giving her an adrenaline kick and warming her from head to toe.

"Ugh, Cam, you know exactly how to get me!" Claire exclaimed in mock-exasperation, pulling away from their mini-makeout session. She was still riled with adrenaline. "Dessert time. Let's watch Bridesmaids—I've seen that one _so _often a little kissing won't hurt …"

Cam grinned widely and helped Claire set the small mahogany table with two ceramic bowls and teaspoons, while Claire grabbed a large spoon and dipped it into the large bowl with the dessert. She set it on the table and pulled out her chair.

Cam spooned a large dollop into Claire's bowl ("Watch out, I'm on a diet!" – "Then why'd you make this?") and then helped himself.

"Mmh, I _love _this," Cam murmured with a small groan, swallowing a spoonful of mascarpone.

"Glad you like it." Claire smiled to herself. She adored making Cam happy.

They both finished their helping in record time and Claire was about to give him a new one when his cell phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. Cam pulled the phone out and checked the caller ID. "Sorry, I have to take this," he mouthed towards Claire as he flipped his phone open.

"Hi, this is Cam. … Oh, yeah. Of course. … Great. Yeah, that's awesome." He grinned, stood up and walked a few paces away. Claire had to strain her ears so that she could hear him. "Uh-huh … yeah … I'll do my best. But I can't really talk, I'm in the middle of dessert with her. … Oh, yeah, yeah. … Okay. I'll be there. … … … Makes total sense. Okay. … But does he know? Did you tell him already?" Cam walked further away, so that Claire could only catch snippets of what he was saying. "—no idea — didn't say — thing. … No — surprise! … Oh … Yeah — there. – Bye."

Claire frowned. What had that been about?

Cam snapped his phone shut and returned to his dessert. "Want some more," sweetie?"

Claire shook her head. She'd lost her appetite. "Who was that?"

Cam pursed his lips and suddenly looked uncomfortable. "It was … uh … a colleague." He nodded, looking he was trying to reassure himself rather than Claire. "Yeah. A colleague."

"Cam, you're a terrible liar." Claire stood up, pushing her chair back with a loud screech. She took her bowl and set it onto the countertop, next to the sink, with a resounding bang. "Who was that?" She looked at Cam, but he avoided her gaze and looked away. "Cam, please." She paused, and felt her eyes starting to swim. She couldn't believe she was getting worked up over such a little thing. "Who was that?"

"I told you, Claire, it was a colleague." He stood up, and took his bowl to the sink. "Why are you making such a big fuss?"

"Because you're lying!" Claire nearly yelled, but stopped herself. Instead, she tried to control her volume. "Didn't we say no secrets, no matter how big or small?"

Cam looked increasingly uncomfortable. "It's … it's not what it seems like, Claire," he finally muttered. "Please, trust me. Just this once."

He tried to hug her, but Claire turned away. "I think I'll have an early night in," she said instead, slipping out of his embrace.

"I'll come," Cam replied quickly.

Claire turned around. "Please. No. I … I … just … please." She bit her lip, wishing the tears not to spill. A single drop trickled down her cheek to her chin. Angry, she wiped it away. "Not now. Not today."

* * *

**So, how was that? Was the kissing scene awkward? Tell me what you think! I'm not very good at writing that kind of stuff I'm afraid … anyway, I hope you liked the chapter anyway. :) -jojo-smile **


	4. III

**A/N: As you can see, here's the third chapter of MAYHEM! *yay* I feel like this chapter is super-long (it's actually shorter than Chpt 1, haha) but that's because there are three smaller bits in it. So … yeah. I hope you like it and please don't forget to rate and review! -Jojo**

* * *

Westchester, NY

The Blue Robin Café

Wednesday, 13th September

8:15 AM

Kristen Gregory slung her Marc Jacobs tote over one shoulder and scanned the crowded café for any sign of Hunter Calloway, her breakfast buddy for every Monday, Wednesday and Friday of the past three months.

"Kris!" she heard a familiar voice yell. "Over here!"

Flipping her curled blonde hair behind her shoulder, Kristen turned in the direction of the yell. There—Hunter! She raised her arm in greeting and smiled so that Hunter saw she had seen him. With a straighten of her red pea coat, Kristen threaded her way through the dark wooden chairs until she had reached the table Hunter had bagged by the window.

Hunter Calloway was tall and broad, with cocoa-colored skin and vivid green eyes. His powder blue Hilfiger sweater stretched across his chest when he stood up and his dark hair was close-shaven. When Kristen arrived, he gave her a hug and they kissed cheeks in greeting. Even with her Tory Burch wedges, Kristen was half a head shorter than Hunter.

"Morning, Kristen," Hunter said, running a hand over his bald scalp and sitting down in his chair.

Kristen smiled. "Morning, Hunter." She unbuttoned her coat—it was stuffy in the café—and threw it over the back of the chair. She dropped her tote next to the chair and, with a soft sigh, sank down into it. "I've been up since seven," she complained, running a hand through her hair. "Went for a jog, and had to walk all the way here too." Shaking her head, she looked up to meet Hunter's eye. "But I don't want to be a complainer. How are you?"

Hunter shrugged. "I'm fine. We got a few new DNA samples in for a burglary yesterday." Hunter was a forensic specialist for the Westchester County Police Department. "I've been thinking about it the whole night. Something isn't right with the case."

Kristen propped her elbow onto the table, formed her hand into a fist and rested her chin on her fist. "Tell me about it."

Hunter looked left and right uneasily. "Well, actually, the victim insisted upon confidentiality. They don't want anyone finding out. So …"

Kristen pursed her lips. "Well, I don't know who this person is, do I know? And since you'll be keeping the case confidential … I'll never find out. I can help you if at all possible, _et voilà_—you will have received help from only the best." She flipped the tips of her hair in mock-vanity.

Hunter laughed. "Okay. You won me over. So this person's apartment was broken into the day before yesterday—"

"Monday," Kristen interjected.

Hunter swatted at her arm. "No interruptions!"

"I was just clarifying."

Hunter breathed in deeply through his nose and proceeded. "So, the apartment was broken into on _Monday_. Only one object was stolen—the person's priceless signet ring."

Kristen gasped. "But what's the point?! The burglar wouldn't be able to pawn it even if they tried—and if they did, they would be the worst burglar I've ever heard of."

Hunter held up his hand. "The burglar also left a whole lot of traces behind," he continued. "Cigarette stub, numerous fingerprints, muddy footprints … even a used Q-tip!"

Kristen gagged. "A used _Q-tip_?"

Hunter nodded. "Exactly that. Anyway, the thing is, I feel like there are too many traces, you know? I mean, it's just completely unrealistic—it's almost as if they went to the trouble of smoking a cigarette and leaving the stub there with their saliva all over it, and touched all things in a radius of who-knows-how-many feet on purpose! It's as if—"

"The burglar wants to be caught," Kristen said thoughtfully, finishing Hunter's sentence. "That's interesting indeed. Except what if they're just a shitty burglar?"

"It's too many coincidences, Kris!" Hunter exclaimed so loudly that Kristen jumped. "Too many things that correlate that give us the perfect series of clues to find the burglar in an _instant_. I just … don't get it."

Kristen touched his hand. "Well, if they left so many clues behind, I'm sure you'll be able to find them easily. Then they'll be questioned as to their motives."

Hunter nodded, but before he could answer, a waitress with a black pixie cut and a nose ring arrived, pen and pad at the ready. Her nametag read "SANDRA".

"Good morning," SANDRA said in a fake-cheerful voice. "Have you picked already?"

"Oh, I know what I'm taking." Kristen tapped her recently filed nails against the table, trying to remember the exact name of the dish. "Ah! Yes, know I remember. The Continental Breakfast for One, and a large latte macchiato, please." She smiled at SANDRA, who obediently scribbled down Kristen's order.

"Would you like raspberry or strawberry jam?"

"Strawberry, please."

"Margarine or butter?"

"Butter, please."

"And would you like normal, non-fat or lactose-free yoghurt for your muesli?"

"Non-fat, please."

SANDRA nodded, taking note of the order, then turned to Hunter. "And you, sir?"

"I'll take the French toast with cinnamon sugar and maple syrup, plus a decaf coffee with half-skim milk, please."

"Thank you. I'll be coming with your drinks in a short while." With one last nod, SANDRA made her way through the maze of chairs to the kitchen.

Kristen turned back to Hunter. "Where were we?"

"Questioning the burglar's motives. Anyway, Kris, I guess I'll just have to see once I get to work." He paused, fiddling with the napkins in the napkin holder. "Anything you have on your mind?"

Kristen nodded, unconsciously cracking her knuckles. Hunter winced. "Please stop cracking your knuckles."

Kristen blushed. "Sorry. I do it without noticing—it's a bad habit."

"Okay, Kristen. Dish. What's on your mind?"

Kristen folded her fingers, and finally said, "Well, I just … _argh_! It's just that I absolutely _hate _my job."

Hunter chuckled. "You were bound to be. Being a kindergarten teacher was never your thing."

Kristen nodded. "I know. And I hate it so much! I know I have much more potential, it's just in this job, I can never reach it. I want to shoot for the stars, and right now, I'm stuck in a swamp of never-ending boredom. Figuratively, of course."

"So just get a new job!"

Kristen pursed her lips. "The only thing is, the kindergarten gives me a steady income, you know? And even though I hate it, the feeling of a steady income is nice. Secure. Protected."

"I know what you're saying, Kristen. But you can have a steady income in other careers, too. If I were you—well, if I were you, I wouldn't have taken the job in the first place, but that's beside the point—if I were you, I would find a new job. Pronto."

"But how? And where? And … well, _what_, exactly?" She looked into his dark eyes beseechingly. "I need your help, Hunter."

"I hear you, Kris. Let me think." He closed his eyes for a moment, then let them fly open again. "Okay. First of all, you can look in newspapers. They have lots of great job offers there. You can also look online, or register at the Westchester Job Agency."

Kristen nodded, as Hunter counted up her options on his fingers.

"About the what. One, you want to be sure that you're doing something you're passionate about. Look at me—I love my job. I adore it. I'm passionate about it. It's the perfect job. Two—this is especially for you—you'll want to look for something where you can climb up the career ladder. _Aspire_ to something. And three—well, three is basically that you should look for a job where you'll be able to rise to your full potential. Which is kind of connected to two." He looked at Kristen again, to make sure she had understood.

"That makes sense," Kristen admitted finally. "I think those will be good guidelines for me." She checked her watch, then said: "I still have twenty minutes. Tell me more about the burglary. Let's see whether we can figure this out …"

* * *

Upper West Side, NYC

Dylan's Penthouse

Wednesday, September 13th

10:50 AM

Dylan Marvil swallowed another spoonful of her Trader Joe's Organic Mango Passion Granola and flipped a page in that week's issue of _People. _In the background, the radio was gently blaring the newest bubblegum pop hit.

It was Wednesday morning, and Dylan was still in her cream silk dressing gown, eating a breakfast of granola and low-fat cappuccino at the kitchen island of her penthouse. Spread about her were her favorite gossip magazines. _The New York Times _financial section was acting as a coaster for her cappuccino cup.

Dylan was about to collect the magazines together again and get dressed for work when her iPhone vibrated next to the coffee machine. Sighing, she got up from her stool. It was Merri-Lee Marvil, her mother.

"Morning, Mom. What brings you to call?"

Merri-Lee sniffed loudly and blew her nose. A sonorous honk resounded in Dylan's ears. "Oh, _Dylan_," she half-sobbed. "I've just heard the worst news."

Dylan furrowed her brow. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"The Daily Grind's financial advisor has _eloped_!" Merri-Lee exclaimed, pausing so that the full effect of her words could sink into Dylan. "And he left a voicemail on my phone, saying th-that … that we have debts we could never possibly repay!" Loud honking ensued as Merri-Lee blew her nose several more times.

Dylan took a deep breath, waiting for the storm to pass. "Mom, relax. Remember what the yoga instructor told us at the Sheba Resort & Spa? Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth deeply five times, and you'll find you've composed yourself considerably."

Merri-Lee inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "But honey!" she cried. "What if … what if The Daily Grind has to end? What if its finish is near? What if The Daily Grind is over—and with it, my entire career?" She sobbed loudly.

Dylan massaged her temples, trying to find a way in which to placate her mother. "Mom, seriously. Breathe in and out. Clear your mind. You'll find that you can think much clearer then." She paused, trying to think of what to say next. "Try to reach your financial advisor, and ask him why he left. Did he know about the debts? Can he help you somehow? And if he can't, find a new one. Kristen has this one friend, and she says he has a friend who's a popular financial aid lawyer. Maybe he can help you out."

"O-okay," Merri-Lee stammered, her breath still hitching. "But Dylan… What should I _do_? Ryan and Jaime are both so busy nowadays, they can't help me, I'm sure. Can you?"

"Mom, I'm trying to," Dylan explained in exasperation. "Did you hear what I just told you?"

"Y-yes, but I can't reach Albert anymore. He called from a public phone and said he left his cell in his apartment, claiming that he eloped to Hawai'i with his girlfriend."

"I'll try to find out this guy's number I told you about," Dylan promised. "I need to go, Mom, to work, but call me if you need any help, okay? I'll do the best I can."

"Dylan, you're so sweet," Merri-Lee choked out, sniffling. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know, Mom," Dylan said grimly. "Honestly, I don't."

* * *

Downtown Manhattan, NYC

TMZ Manhattan HQ

Wednesday, 13th September

11:30 AM

"Morning, Ms. Marvil!"

Dylan adjusted her high ponytail and turned towards Bree Fairweather, her new assistant, with a smile. "Good morning, Bree."

Never dropping the grin, Bree handed Dylan her usual morning cup of Starbucks caramel latte macchiato, with low-fat skim milk and no whipped cream. "Here you go. Like always."

Dylan nodded, accepting the Styrofoam cup. She dropped her leather Hermés briefcase onto her massive oak desk, in the corner of her large office. As senior reporter, Dylan had many privileges, such as her own office, complete with a spectacular view of the Hudson and the Manhattan skyline. Her desk was a mixture of oak and glass, with a matching high-tech desk chair and an iMac. It was almost empty, save for a framed photograph of her with Ryan, Jaime and Merri-Lee and one with Kristen, Alicia, Claire and Massie at last year's Pretty Committee Reunion.

"Anything new?"

Bree nodded, handing Dylan two manila folders she had been holding tucked under her arm. One was labeled "TIPS" and one "REPORTS". "Here you go. I put these together this morning. You can look through them and then assign any topics to the reporters."

Dylan lazily waved her hand in Bree's direction to show that she understood what she was saying as she opened the first folder. "Bree, I think it's safe to say that I've been in the business a few years longer than you. So I have a good idea of what my job is. Okay?"

Bree nodded, gulping.

"You can go sit down again. I'll call you if I need anything." Rifling through the Tips folder, Dylan sat down behind her desk and turned around so that she was facing the large glass windows and not the door of her office. She heard a muffled thumping on the carpeted floor that told her that Bree had gone back to her cubicle right in front of Dylan's office.

Like every morning, the tips were carefully paper-clipped together depending on the topic they were about. A great many concerned Britney Spears' newest engagement, and New York City's newest socialite, Piper Bingham, who had been sighted out partying with an unknown man, possibly her beau. Dylan sighed. She failed to comprehend why everyone in New York City save but her was completely obsessed with that B-lister. Pursing her lips, Dylan put the Bingham tips in one pile, to be dealt with at a later point in time.

She continued looking through the tips. Right at the bottom was one last tip. It was in a category of its own—clearly, no one else knew anything about whatever the tip was about. Curious, Dylan scanned the piece of paper.

She furrowed her brow, and read it through more carefully another time.

That wasn't possible.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, then opened them again. It hadn't been a hallucination, unfortunately.

Merri-Lee Marvil had officially become a target of public gossip—for the worse.

* * *

**So, that was the third chapter! Sorry if the separate bits were a bit short, but I didn't want to make this chapter too long, and also, each bit was only about one small thing that will lead to a bigger thing. If that makes sense. They're kind of … causes. Well, I don't think I'm explaining this properly, but anyway :) Hope you enjoyed! -Jojo **


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